


Simon Says

by Ladycat, OtherCat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bondage, But actually these two are more dorky than sexy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rodney's insecurity is the third person in this relationship, Service Top, mild Dom/Sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-20
Updated: 2006-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: John tries to get Rodney to get some rest...sexily...with mixed results.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little two person round robin fic between me and Ladycat back in 2006.

"Don't move." And just like that, he froze, the same as if he'd been ordered to out in the field because of a snake that had decided on a little tent-invasion. Except, this was his _office_ where he was doing his _job_ and they were in semi-public, and the low, husky voice John was using, was _not_ the one he used when they were in the field.

"Colonel, I really don't have time for playing 'Simon says' with you," McKay said irritably. "Go away."

John snickered. "Simon says?" John was standing too close, so close Rodney could feel the heat of his body, so close he could feel John's breath against his neck. John caught Rodney's wrists and pulled them behind his back, holding them together at the wrists. Rodney could have broken the hold, but didn't. "Simon says you have fifteen minutes to finish what you're doing and meeting me at that place out on the south pier." John gave a brief squeeze, and moved away. "Don't be late, Rodney," John said cheerfully, and left the room. _Whistling_.

* * *

It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Unfathomably _unconscionable_ , bordering on out-and-out _rude._ Rodney had work to do, not just the normal day-to-day emergencies, but one of their bi-monthly apocalyptic-emergencies. It didn't matter that the rest of his team had abandoned him to the lab, claiming the need for things like 'food' or 'rest'. Rodney couldn't stop yet, not just because John had wrapped those long, powerful fingers around his wrists, heat softening the ragged edge of pain the hold had caused and ...

Rodney looked down. His laptop was closed and locked up and he only had five minutes to get to the sourth pier on time.

He absolutely _did not_ hurry.

The pier was deserted at this time of night, wide balcony washed pearly white under this world's two moons. John stood at the railing, looking over the distant, crawling waves below him. He was wearing short-sleeves, Rodney noticed, unusual for John. Not _unexpected_ , given how hot most of the complex was, since air conditioning was out of the question. Nice, though. His arms were spread wide, making his shoulders bunch, shadows draped gracefully over his musculature.

"What?" he snapped. Offense was good, particularly if John was in _that_ kind of mood. "I'm sorry, do you _like_ not using the gate? Having cooked food? Or, oh, I know -- showers. Mm, showers, I miss those, so why don't I go _back to work_ and make sure we can _have them_." No response, but that wasn't unexpected; Rodney was on a roll. "Just because we've established that the power-drain isn't from an outside source doesn't mean that it isn't serious. I have work that needs to be done, and no time for--"

"Come here, Rodney." John patted the railing to his left, still looking out over the ocean.

Rodney resisted maybe a half a second before grumbling his way over to the railing. He stared, stomach muscles jumping inward when John hooked a finger into Rodney's belt-loop. "What?" he snapped again.

John's profile was softened with shadows, the light bleaching his skin almost yellow. Lifeless, when the heat of him said the exact opposite. "You haven't slept in two days," John said conversationally. "And the only time you eat is when Carson or I force a power bar on you."

 

* * *

"Did you just _not_ hear the part where I've been busy trying to save this city?" Rodney asked, exasperated. "I don't need to be told when to eat or sleep, you've heard me complain often enough when I don't get enough of either."

"Except of course when you're busy trying to save the city," John said, and pulled him closer. "Then you pass out from manly hunger."

"You are _never_ going to let that go, are you?" McKay said. "I said that _once_ when I was obviously loopy with hunger and _fear_ that I was going to die of starvation if we weren't eaten by an energy sucking cloud and." And John was giving him the patient, 'I'm not really listening to you, but I certainly _look_ interested, don't I?' look. He wound down, settling on a glare of affronted dignity and John smiled.

"Like I was saying, you haven't slept for two days, and you haven't been eating. We have a full staff working on the problem, and some of them are at _least_ as smart as you, so I thought you could let them do their jobs, and take a break." Rodney opened his mouth, ready to condemn _that_ line of reasoning, but John covered his mouth. "Not a word," John said, voice edged with a note of command he seldom used. Rodney closed his mouth. "Take off your belt," John said.

 

* * *

 

"They aren't at least as smart as me," he heard himself complain, whiny to his own ears. His fingers trembled as they curled around his belt buckle. The metal felt tacky and plastic. "Okay, maybe Zelenka is _close_ , but he doesn't know power jo-junctions as well as I do, which is entirely necessary if we're going to -- "

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

His teeth clicked shut. When John talked like that, all summer-hot drawl and sharp amusement that did nothing to conceal the weight of command... Rodney glanced down, unsurprised to see his belt hanging like a flattened snake, waving slightly on a breeze.

John's smile shouldn't have been a reward, especially since it gleamed like diamonds cut to points. "That's better." Warm fingers slid up the stained jacket Rodney wore, stroking over skin that fluttered against John's touch. "Did you know that you collapsed at your desk a few hours ago? That's when Zelenka contacted me. I think his exact words were 'please take care of him before I kill him'. Were you annoying him, Rodney?"

 

* * *

"He's exaggerating," Rodney said. His vision had grayed out for a while, and things had gone in and out of focus, but he hadn't _collapsed_ and clarity had returned after two more cups of coffee. "He was annoying _me_." Hovering at a nearby station, and frowning at him, and every so often muttering in Czech under his breath, as if Rodney didn't already _know_ what he was saying, or couldn't use a Czech-English dictionary.

"Uh-huh," John said with amused skepticism. He took the belt from Rodney, looping and twisting it idly in his hands.

Rodney couldn't look away, brain immediately supplying lurid, kinky possibilities for the belt--so he almost missed John's next order, which was to remove his coat and shirt. His fingers, his arms felt clumsy and nerveless, and he stumbled drunkenly over his own feet when the shirt came off over his head--but John caught him. "Maybe I do need sleep," Rodney said leaning against John's chest. He felt too _awake_ to sleep, the way he had when he'd been pumped up on stimulants during the siege--Too exhausted to think, too awake to be anything other than alert.

"We'll see what we can do about that," John said, amused, and Rodney wondered how much of that he'd actually said out loud. John pushed Rodney back, and looped the belt around Rodney's wrists. Then John took his belt, and used it to fasten Rodney to the railing, facing the water.

* * *

 

 

Okay, this was new. This was new and _different_ and despite his normal predaliction of never being afraid when Colonel Sheppard -- complete with his own theme song and groupies! -- was around, he was ashamed to feel more than a little nervous at the moment. Possibly even afraid. Because this was new an different and _way_ more openly _something_ then they'd ever done before.

Also, because he couldn't see John.

He tried to force his breathing slow and steady, but panic was too familiar a habit to resist. He started panting, fully aware that parts of him were not bothered by this at _all_ , locked up and tight as he tried not to tug on the belt holding him. It _would_ come undone without a lot of effort. It would.

"If this is some kind of game," he started.

A cool kiss to the side of his neck froze the rest of his rant unuttered. "I keep telling you to be quiet, and you keep talking. That's not following orders very well."

_Yes, whenever have I ever done_ that? he didn't ask.

 

* * *

"Just breathe, Rodney," John murmured into his ear. "Nice deep breaths, and count the waves. John's hands were gentle, rubbing his shoulders and neck, soothing aches that Rodney had almost forgotten about.

"If you were going to give me a back rub, you didn't need to tie me _up,_ " Rodney said. John pinched him, and he jumped. "Hey!"

"Count the waves, Rodney," John said, sounding amused, and stern. "Keep your eyes on the water, and just _breathe_."

He wanted to make snide remarks about amateur hypnotists, but given that he'd been _tied up_ he didn't want to push _too_ much just yet. He started counting, concentrating on the waves, and the way the moonlight hit them while John's hands worked their way down Rodney's back, and back up to his shoulders and arms.

 

* * *

This kind of thing never worked on him. Not _really_. He was too tense, too hyper, his mind always circling from one problem -- _the desalinization tanks had to be checked, because there were a lot of things they could live without but potable water was **not** one of them_ \-- to another -- _maybe they could try rerouting it through a jumper? No, that was almost medicinal like cleaning blood through a pig, except the jumpers worked fine and_ \--

Except, okay, it wasn't making his brain turn off, and it was probably due more to the massage than anything else. But he _was_ starting to relax. Little things, like something popping in his back under John's touch, spreading a wave of warmth and soothing relief that had Rodney swaying slightly. Or the way John was humming softly under his breath, something he did only when he was calm and content. Normally, that just made Rodney even more manic and tense, but not this time. This time it was soothing, like the white-noise machines that'd never successfully worked on him, recommended by a legion of superiors and therapists over the years.

"Depeche Mode?" he asked. He was drowsy, body as loose as possible given he was _standing_ and _tied up_. "Personal ... something?"

John's chuckle was as telling as his humming, a rolling sound that had its own ebb and flow. "Johnny Cash, blasphemer. Depeche Mode covered it."

"Ah." Not the best of comebacks but John was attacking the stubbornly tense muscles above his kidneys, warm hands deft and soothing, and Rodney would fully admit that having John touch him, in any manner, made him tongue-tied and stupid.

 

* * *

"Stop thinking, Rodney," John said, and pressed a kiss between Rodney's shoulder blades.

"Oh, like that's going to happen, just because you say so--ohh." John had unfastened Rodney's pants, slipped a hand into Rodney's boxers and wrapped his hand around Rodney's cock. John squeezed, and Rodney jumped, bumping back against John, who pressed him against the rail, grinding his hard on against Rodney's ass.

"I'm going to fuck you Rodney," John murmured into his ear. "Right here on the balcony, that's the only thing I want you to think about right now, got that?"

 

* * *

 

His lungs labored, tightening because Rodney had no idea how to make them function. "Jesus," he moaned, gasping as instinct took over, breathing so fast that it hurt, like he'd swallowed something wrong. "What about -- " He stopped again, moaning when John squeezed. " _People!_ There could be p-people!"

"Are you ashamed of me?" John's tongue licked right below Rodney's ear, a prelude to a bite. "Don't want to be seen, tied up and naked and screaming while I fuck you?"

Oh, god. Yes. God, oh god, that sounded _fantastic_. "Career," Rodney made himself grit out, though, because it was obvious that John wasn't thinking at _all_ and Rodney had better do it for him.

 

* * *

John's only response was a low, dirty chuckle and another squeeze. John pushed Rodney's pants down, followed by his briefs, then knelt to untie and remove Rodney's shoes and socks. He had Rodney step out of his pants, and in no time at all Rodney was naked and shivering from the breeze that was coming in off the water. "John, seriously this is a bad idea."

"No one's going to come out here, Rodney," John said patiently. "South pier was the first place we opened up breeze ways in, the other teams are busy in west and north, and no one's scheduled to patrol The School House or Temple Hill tonight," John said, naming the two major "land marks" in this section fo the city. John's hands rubbed Rodney's legs, kneading bone and muscle to the consistancy of rubber and Jello.

 

* * *

 

Not whimpering. Not giving in. Rodney wasn't sure what he wasn't giving in _to_ but the more smug and condescending John sounded, the more Rodney wanted to be contrary just to _be_ contrary. "There could still be people!" he managed without stuttering, which was impressive given John was *on his knees* next to him. "We can't be the only ones looking for an -- ow!"

The sound of Rodney's swallowed groans and panting fill the air. John tilted his head back and forth, eyeing the perfect indentation of teeth in Rodney's leg, and then licked it. "I set the patrols, remember? And I know all the make out spots. This isn't one of them."

It wasn't? That didn't make any sense, really, but Rodney wasn't thinking about that anymore. "You _bit_ me!"

"And you _liked_ it," John retorted, mimicking his tone.

 

* * *

"That's not the point," Rodney said, and then forgot for a moment what the point was supposed to _be,_ because John's hands had nudged Rodney's legs apart. "You don't _know_ someone won't be coming--"

"You will, if you're good that is," John said. Rodney didn't need to look back to know John was grinning.

"Oh, very clever," Rodney said, and jumped with John bit him again, on his left ass cheek this time. John licked the bite, making Rodney squirm. John's hands were on Rodney's ass, rough and scorching hot to Rodney's chilled skin. John's mouth and tongue started doing things that made Rodney buck and squirm, desperate heat and lust spreading through him as John licked and teased.

 

* * *

There was something inherently _wrong_ with rimming. The body was stupidly designed, Rodney knew that better than anyone, and having all your nerves connected with something that handled all your _waste_ was just a recipe for disgusting ... uh... oh, god his _tongue,_ but no, no, it was wrong, without venturing into the area of taboos because those were also stupid, but being _clean_ was --

"Oh, fuck," Rodney hissed, twisting his fingers so he could grip the belt tightly. Oh, god. They'd done this on only one other occasion and then Rodney had forced John to wait while he maticulously cleaned up and by the time he was done it was so utterly unsexy that he'd never known it could feel like _this_.

Like pure equations, dancing under his skin, linking together to form the most perfect theory of _god, I want to come and I want to come right the hell now._

 

* * *

 John made a smug little humming noise that Rodney was to scattered to comment on, and moved back. The loss of contact made Rodney make a noise that definitely wasn't a whimper, but John laughed at him anyway, the bastard.

Rodney leaned his forehead against his bound hands, body shaking with a combination of exhaustion and arrousal that made him feel even more tightly wound, not relaxed like John was evidently going for. He'd just summoned enough of his wits to point this out when John returned, and slipped two slippery fingers into him, making him jump and push back. "Oh god," Rodney said. He could _hear_ John grinning at him, didn't need to look back at all. "I hate you, really a do."

"Yeah, I can see that," John muttered, mouth against Rodney's neck. Rodney didn't want to be kissed by that mouth, not considering where had been, but his protest was cut off by a sharp nip. "I brushed my _teeth_ Rodney."

Oh, that would explain the mint Rodney was smelling then.

* * *

It was a level of consideration that Rodney, frankly, wasn't expecting. He knew what people thought of his hypochondria -- which it _wasn't_ , thank you -- even John. But John's kisses were clean and faintly stinging from the toothpaste the Athosians made for them, and Rodney couldn't help whimpering into them, twisting even further because god could John _kiss_.

Except.

"Ow, ow, neck, ow."

John just _laughed_ at him, the asshole, as Rodney tried to unkink what ever'd kinked in his neck, twisting around until John's free hand caught his head, thumb and fingers working until something popped and Rodney sighed in relief. "Oh, that's better."

"Uh huh." John still sounded so damned amused. It deserved retaliation, when two fingers had worked and flicked and rubbed Rodney loose and become three. "Lean forward."

Rodney obeyed, puffing onto his wrists. "Not really helping me relax," he snapped. It was never fun unless he was fighting, after all.

* * *

"Well, if this doesn't work, we'll just move on to the next thing," Johns said. Rodney could hear John's zipper coming down, which should have been nearly impossible given the distand sound of the see, and the breeze whistling among the towers. John's hands held him still, kept him from pushing back as John slid into him.

"Which would be what? Whips, chains? Since we have _bondage_ covered," Rodney said, then moaned as John shifted into a good angle, hitting a spot that made sparks fly.

"Well, I was thinking of sneaking sleeping pills into your dinner," John said sounding a little breathless. "But we might try that too, if you think it might help."

* * *

 

"That's -- oh -- good to know. You'll _drug_ me." Then the rest of what John had implicitly promise kicked in and Rodney shivered. Oh, god, would he? Rodney was into a good kink, sure, and John's were certainly not surprising giving his long years in the military -- and oh, oh, god, just like that, sliding in just _right_ \-- but there were kinks and there were kinks and Rodney had never been into pain. "Whips?"

John grunted, one hand sliding around Rodney's waist, the other gripping the railing near where he'd tied Rodney up. Teeth bit down, cold and cruel, into Rodney's shoulder, John's chuckle riding over the resulting buck and shudder. "Only when you're ready for it," John promised him.

 

* * *

 

"That will be--" Rodney moaned as John picked up pace, one hand sliding down to grip Rodney's cock. "That'll be precisely _never_." He didn't think he'd like that kind of pain--then again he hadn't thought he'd like being _tied up_ , and here he was.

"Velvet flogger?" John said.

"I'd love to see you try to requisition one of _those_ ," Rodney said, even as his brain immediately supplied him with intensely erotic images of John teasing him until he was half out of his mind with lust, and of _himself_ armed with said flogger, and John spread out wide and open, cock hard and dark red and twitching. He moaned, arching back into John, and thrusting into John's fist, caught between the two sensations and desperate to get himself off before he exploded.

 

* * *

 

"Requisition? Nah. What do you think half of us are trading for, when we go visit the Sterians?"

What? Rodney had known about the sudden increase in sex toys -- they broke, after all -- but he hadn't known _where_ they were getting them.

But it didn't matter, because John was panting into his ear, fucking hard and fast and Rodney wasn't thinking. Not about all the work he had to do, or the things he wanted, or the things he didn't want, the constant litany that cycled through his mind no matter what was going on.

All he thought was _please, now, please_.

 

* * *

 

John must have somehow developed telepathy, because he did _something_ that made Rodney fall apart as he came. His legs buckled underneath him, and his throat felt raw with the scream he hadn't even heard, and his vision swam. He clung to the belt wrapped around his wrists, and let the railing and John support him.

"Got you, not gonna let go," John muttered against Rodney's neck, and came with a muffled groan, pressing Rodney against the rail. For a moment John just held onto Rodney, his weight heavy and warm against Rodney's back, then John was unfastening the belts and wrapping a blanket around Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney had just enough presence of mind to wonder where John had gotten the blanket, but not enough to comment on it as he was led inside.

 

* * *

His legs didn't work so well. Rodney didn't bother mentioning that, though, just leaned a little more heavily against John.

Who grunted and shook his head, tightening his grip around Rodney's waist. "Feeling better?"

"I was feeling fine before, too!" he lied. His joints felt like jello, muscles slippery like freshly cooked pasta, limp and intractable. "Mm."

He didn't realize he was wavering until John hauled him even closer, brushing a kiss over his jaw. "Thought so. Now c'mon. You need food that isn't processed. And clothes."

"I have clothes, John," Rodney pointed out nastily, but his heart wasn't in it. His clothes had to be pretty disgusting after living in them for over forty eight hours, and he wasn't exactly a daub hand with the laundry facilities anyway. Besides: John was half-carrying him down a deserted hallway into a room that hadn't been there a second before, Rodney *knew* it --

Revealing one of the comfortable two-person futons that several of the engineers had put together since almost everyone needed a catnap at the office at one time or another. In addition to the futon was a picnic basket that made John grunt when he lifted it.

And clothes. _Rodney's_ clothes, stacked neatly on the edge of the futon, clean and cool and dry and not sweaty or sticky or sticking _to_ him ...

Clothes. Rodney's clothes. And a picnic lunch that smelled incredible and Rodney was starving.

 

* * *

"No running water, so you'll have to clean up the old fashioned way," John said, and nodded in the direction of a pitcher and basin resting next to wash cloths, soap and towels that had been placed on a bar separating the main room and what looked like some kind of kitchenette.

"My, you've thought of everything," Rodney said. He was reaching for sarcastic, but it slipped through his mental fingers. Rodney thought he recognized the pitcher and basin from Teyla's room--John must have borrowed them--and his thoughts were all over the place. John was smiling at him fondly, which was just damned annoying. Rodney padded over to the bar.

While he cleaned up as best he could, John set up dinner. There was a thermos of soup and sandwiches, deviled eggs and fruit, more thermoses full of herbal tea. There was also a bottle of a brandy the Athosians traded for, and a couple of brandy glasses. It was all very strangely romantic, the only thing lacking was the mood music, Rodney thought fuzzily as he sat down.

 

* * *

John looked like he was concentrating on something as he -- ever the Southern Gentleman, all caps -- portioned out their suppers and poured a healthy shot for both of them.

Rodney's fingers tingled where John's had brushed them.

"Drink it, Rodney. You're going to tense back up and fun as that was?" John yawned, over exaggerating the movement, "I'm too tired for a repeat."

The alcohol burned when Rodney drank it, leaving his lips and tongue sparking like he'd brushed them against an outlet. It made him cough, too, like _all_ alcohol did _ever_. No matter what the damned stereotyp about Canadians and drinking was. "What's in this, napalm?" he demanded.

Smirking, John waited until Rodney had his breath back, then stole it all away in a kiss. "Shut up and eat, Rodney."

 

* * *

"It all smells wonderful, too bad the hootch burned off all of my tastebuds," Rodney said and sampled the soup, which was "chicken" noodle with the weird blue pasta that looked like egg noodles but weren't.

"It's a really expensive brandy, " John protested with a grin. It had been given as a gift during a trade meeting on PX3-896, which had been nicknamed "New Venice" by Lorne's gate team since the major population center was a city of bridges and canals. It was also called "The Planet Where They Were Gangsters," but that was another story.

 

* * *

 

Rodney snorted and put back another shot. It made him cough, but even now he knew it'd take quite a lot to get Rodney McKay drunk. "Oh, yes, what was it that little Mafia Moll wanted? Your shirt?"

John chuckled, tucking into his own dinner. "If I'd know about your jealousy before," he warned, which was just stupid.

He had _too_ known how jealous Rodney was. It was one of the reasons he stayed, something Rodney was well aware of in the dark, cold hours before sunrise. John had a hundred admirers who wanted his body, a thousand who wanted to gloat that they'd taken the untakable. But only Rodney would scoff at them all and plot his way into John's mind, because everything else was just trappings.

Really _hot_ trappings, Rodney mused, tiliting his head to better see John stretch for something else in the basket. He never claimed he wasn't shallow, just that he was shallow _in addition to._

 

* * *

 

 "Sadly, I'm the only one who _wasn't_ blinded by all that dazzle you put out Colonel, so you're stuck with me," Rodney said. He wasn't sure if it made _sense_ but it was something to say. Rodney popped a deviled egg into his mouth.

"Dazzle?" John said with a slight grin.

Rodney waved his hand. "You know, the rakish grin, the flirting."

"I do _not_ flirt," John protested. "I'm just friendly."

"Of _course_ you are," Rodney said mockingly, then yawned. "Intergalactic Casanova."

"I'm not that bad," John said, and reached over to poke Rodney. "And it's not like you've never had anyone throw themselves at you, so there."

 

* * *

"Oh, yes, let's count how many hot babes -- or guys -- who have promised me their entire _planet_ in exchange for your ass." Rodney made a great show of counting out exactly three fingers, waggling them even as he ate another egg. God, he loved these, how had John remembered? "Now let's count the number of times people have decided I'm more valuable _kidnapped_ or _drugged into submission_ , except you know what? Unless you have an additional sixty seven fingers hidden away, I think we're out of luck!"

John just laughed, pressing a cup of tea into Rodney's hand. "Only seventy seven times, huh?"

"Eighty seven, John, can't you keep up?" Rodney tried to scowl, but John was _feeding_ him bits of the sandwich, long-forgotten mustard bursting tart and bitter on his tongue and Rodney was too busy chewing to chew-out John.

 

* * *

 

"And how does all that translate to me being the Intergalactic Casanova, Q?" John said.

For a moment, Rodney's pop-cultural references were confused, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he had to do with a Star Trek pseudo-diety. "Well, you certainly think you're James Bond," Rodney said finally.

"And we got the brandy because you fixed their water recycling plant, not because I was flirting with Nia--which I wasn't."

"Nia?" Rodney blinked. "Oh, the Gun Moll."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, the Gun Moll."

 

* * *

 

John so _had_ been flirting about it, too, Rodney remembered with a scowl. All that _leaning_. And * _smiling_ *. And waggling those stupid eyebrows of his, making him looke he was fifteen, not thirty-something and fully grown and --

Rodney glared, hard. "You were flirting with her for the brandy," he accused.

Shaking his head, John began eating his own sandwich. He still looked insufferably smug. "Rodney, I promise. I wasn't flirting."

Oh, that *liar*. Like Rodney didn't know all the tells by then? Just because he was magnificently bad at people didn't mean he was bad at reading _individuals_ , particularly John. There were reasons to learn every twitch or habit of John's after all. "You were flirting to get the brandy for _us_."

Busted. Oh, so very busted.

 

* * *

 

"Yes Rodney, I was flirting to score us some booze," John said in the tone of someone humoring a child--or a jealous boyfriend. "I'm a total rentboy, the uniform is really a costume." John poured Rodney another glass of brandy.

 

* * *

"Well, at least you're _admitting_ it." Rodney sipped the brandy, enjoying the rich, sweet taste of it and the burn it left behind. "You're such a slut," he continued, tone more lecturing than accusatory. "You're a -- a walking hormone."

One that, he knew, for some bizarre reason stayed faithful. Rodney had had faithful lovers before, usually because he'd terrorized them into either staying haltingly monogamous or having them just leave him outright.

John wasn't terrorized, though. It was something Rodney didn't like to think much about, so instead he leaned forward and shared a brandy-and-bread-flavored kiss. "Slut."

 

* * *

"You definitely aren't ready to play that game, McKay, " John said, eyes darkening briefly before he kissed back, hand curving around the back of Rodney's neck to hold him steady. John still sounded amused, but there was a definite something else there that made Rodney shiver despite himself.

"Game? What game I called you a--"

John nipped him. "The one where you're calling me a slut, and making me beg for more? That game." John kissed him again before Rodney could think of a reply. "Kind of like this game, where you beg me to shut you up in new and inventive ways." Rodney sputtered, but John kept kissing him, not letting him get out more than a few muffled protests.

 

* * *

 

John had to pull back first, which had Rodney smug for the .3 seconds he needed to regain his own breath. "I was _not_ asking you to shut me up," he protested. "First of all, I'd never phrase it like that. Second of all, I provide valuable -- probably priceless -- information every time I speak, so your efforts at kissing -- mmph -- me are making Atlantis that much poorer by the second."

Rodney had a crap poker face, but he knew how to look down on people, even if he was poised over a picnic lunch, weight on his elbow, and trying desperately not to grin.

 

 


End file.
